


The Magic House

by Lorien_Lupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Gen, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Titles, Ilvermorny, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Harry Potter characters, Rating May Change, not really a crossover, previous knoledge of House M.D. not required, title will change at the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-18 00:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18109523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorien_Lupin/pseuds/Lorien_Lupin
Summary: Greg's 11 birthday was supposed to be the oposite of special, and it was, but it would also be the beggining of an extraordinary adventure.Not knowlledge of House M.D. required; No HP characters AT ALL





	1. Happy birthday, here's your test

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note 1: This is My first ever AU fic, my first fic post in AO3, my first fic in like 10 years, my first House M.D. fic, and my first attemp at a crossover... so WOW.
> 
> Author’s note 2: Ok, so I don’t live in the US, Canada, or any other former UK Colony, so I have no idea about school year dates, tests, etc. I have made some research on that subject, but not much; so please forgive any inaccuracies I may incur in.
> 
> Author’s note 3: And as stated in the summary, no Harry Potter characters whatsoever, not even the most peripheral ones you can think of; and no House M.D. previous knowledge required, as this is an Alternate Universe fic…so lets cross our fingers and see what comes out.

Greg opened his eyes, and sighed, he was eleven years old today. He was eleven and all he had to look forward to were finals.  
He yawned, rub the sleep out of his eyes, and left the bed. The Base’s school was smaller than an average school; not that Gregory have gone to many of those. But still, it was smaller, an in any other time of the year, a kid’s birthday would be treated as an event; it was probably the result of having such a small number of children per class. Cake, treats and songs would be involved, and the entire class would stop for more than half an hour so that the birthday boy or girl would be properly celebrated.  
Greg’s birthday was not one of those cases, his fell right at the end of the school year, and always in the midst of the finals, with teachers stressed and students distracted. It hadn’t been too much of an issue when he was younger, and finals were nothing more than drawing of shapes or the alphabet; but by now the tests were harder, for the other kids at least, and Gregory was usually treated to a rushed Happy birthday song and a batch of to go pre-cut slices of cake, right before or after the last bell had rung.

He got dressed and wander into the kitchen for breakfast. His mother kissed his forehead muttering a happy birthday, and put a large stack of pancakes and a large glass of a chocolate beverage still freezing cold in front of him. He thanked his mother and had just started eating when his father entered the kitchen, ready to leave for work.

\- You just started eating? – Greg stiffen and looked down, as his mother retreated into the other side of the kitchen trying to looked busy – you have finals. You may not care about your grades, but I work here, and I can’t have you slaking of and making me look bad. Grab your things, I’ll drop you on the way.

Greg crammed a whole pancake in his mouth as soon as his father left the room, then took a gulp of his chocolate milkshake and ran out the door grabbing his backpack and lunchbox on the way and trying not to choke. He wasn’t fast enough, or neat enough however, he never was; and his father berated him all the way to school.  
The rest of the day until lunch went the way he had expected; he took tests that were way too easy, the teachers watched him suspiciously, always thinking he was cheating somehow, and some student try to get him to give them an answer or two, so he spent a good portion of the morning with his face pillowed in his arms pretending to be deft. 

By lunchtime he was ravenous, but it didn’t bother him; every time he had to skip breakfast after being send to bed without dinner, something weird happened and that day was no different. His lunch box was filled to capacity, either with everything Greg like to eat, in addition to whatever his mother had packed, or in today’s case, his birthday breakfast. There were the pancakes still warm and covered in butter, syrup and slices of banana; and on his thermos was his milkshake, still freezing cold.  
His mother had searched for weeks for a place to buy syrup in Cairo, and she have probably paid an exorbitant amount of money for it, just for Greg’s eleven birthday. He could picture her waking up really early to make the dough from scratch, calculating the time so that when he sat down, the pancakes were perfectly warm to eat and his milkshake cold enough to sat there for a couple of minutes and still be cold.

Greg hadn’t even been late that morning, he was the second student in total to arrive at school, and the first in his class by almost fifteen minutes. But that didn’t matter to John House, it wasn’t about punctuality, or finals, or grades, or anything really; it was just about Greg. Greg the boy that didn’t share his interests, the boy that read too much, the boy that talked back sometimes, the boy that prefer the “locals”, the boy that corrected him once in front of people, the boy that made weird things happen.  
Weird things like somehow bringing his special birthday breakfast with him, as fresh as it was that morning when it was put in front of him. That was why Greg always ate alone, no matter how dumb they were, his classmates would still wonder how could a milkshake stay frozen for hours.

Greg was afraid of his father, as ashamed as he was to admit it, that was the main reason he wasn’t frighten of the weird things that happened around him; it almost always went his way. Like with the iced bath that wouldn’t make him cold at all, or the reappearing meals his father denied him. So Greg wasn’t afraid of the strange things he seemed to be able to do, because by now he knew it was him doing them, but he was rather curious, no one else appeared capable of doing anything similar.  
But for that moment Greg just enjoyed his birthday breakfast, and then gulf down the sandwich and banana smutched under it, and cast his father out of his mind; projecting himself to the summer vacations; the heat was already brutal, but Gregory was looking forward to explore the city. In the months since he arrived he had sneak out a lot, particularly over the weekends, and he had pick up enough of the language to make himself understood somewhat, and was itching to explore the older parts of the city.

 

The rest of the day went much the same, save for the rushed happy birthday song and the expected pre-cut slices of cake right before the bell rung and everyone, Greg included, ran out the door. He rushed home, his father would not leave work earlier just to celebrate his only son’s birthday; in fact, the chances that he arrived late enough for Greg to be asleep already were higher than on any normal day, and Greg was looking forward to his mother spoiling him a little for a change.

Blythe received him at the door with a hug, a kiss, a small wrapped box in her hand and another happy birthday, this time spoken aloud and with a smile; then directed him towards the kitchen where she prepared him a snack while he opened his gift, that turned out to be a harmonica. His mother had been teaching piano intermittently for years, almost always managing to get access to some piano close by. Greg loved it, and he was quite good in spite of the lack of regular practice, but the harmonica had a particular meaning; lately John House had started to remark to his wife that their son’s lack of interest in sports was the result of that “girly” hobby of theirs; and so was, that the piano lessons had stopped.

Greg ran and hugged his mother hard, promptly hiding the harmonica in his backpack. He knew that he would never play it at home, but it didn’t matter, his mother had given him back music, and he love her for it. Blythe put a plate with an omelet on the table, a glass of juice beside it and after kissing her kid for a third time that day, sat across from him and asked about his day.

Kisses and hugs were not something that Blythe regularly gave her child; it wasn’t that she didn’t want to do it, but John always said it would soften the boy and if she, in his opinion, did it too often, he began to try and “toughen the boy up”. So Blythe contained herself, and save it up for special moments like this day, and always when she knew John wouldn’t be there. John wasn’t a bad man, and she did love him, but he was so tough on her boy.  
She told herself that he did it for Greg’s own good, that the world was hard, and her Greg had been such a loving, curious child; too loving and too curious for his own good. He was still curious, he devoured knowledge like sustenance, and when John was not around he asked a million questions, but he wasn’t so loving anymore; and while he still called her mom, John had permanently become “sir”. It broke her heart a little because he had just turn eleven, he was still a child and yet, he was already becoming such a silent serious person. He was tall for his age, all legs and lanky arms, he was beginning to look like a young man; only his eyes, so big and so blue retain that childlike wonder that showed his age.  
After he finished his meal, she gave him one last hug and send him to study for his exams. 

Greg didn’t really need to study, school was very easy for him, but if his father returned early for some reason he would come to his bedroom; and John would expect, maybe even hope, that because it was his birthday, Greg would slack of, and that would mean he needed to be corrected, so Greg studied.  
Greg read his school books for about two hours, until his door opened and his father’s figure appeared, looking in with an angry expression on his face. Greg froze in place, desperately trying to think what he could have done wrong. But John didn’t yell, he didn’t enter and closed the door, he didn’t pull his belt off.

\- Come on out, we have visitors, and you better not be in any trouble boy, or else - he just said in a furious whisper

The phrase hanged in the air, keeping Greg in place, until a “hurry up” made him jump up and follow his father.

When he reached the living room his father was already sitting down in his chair, his mother was on the love sit, and across from her, on the big couch sat two people in business suits. A fat, bald man of extremely pale complexion and a dark skinned woman of native American features. Each had a slick, carved stick in their hand, and the woman had a letter envelope in her lap.  
Blythe pat the place beside her and smile nervously at her son, calling wordlessly for him to sit at her side, and Greg, nervous but strangely excited did so. At the moment he sat down the woman gave him a perfunctory smile and spoke up.

\- Good afternoon, you must be Gregory – Greg answered her greetings but didn’t respond to her smile, it didn’t seem to matter to her anyway. – My name is Ayita Delacou, and this is my coworker Woodrow Hatt, we are here representing the Magical Congress of the United States of America, or MACUSA for short. 

Gregory’s father seemed to be about to interject, but Ms. or Mrs. Delacou raised her empty palm and continue.

\- Mr. and Mrs. House, I understand that you may have many questions, but please let me try to explain the essentials first. You may have noticed that strange things happen around your son, according to our records, they have been happening since he was a toddler. Mr. and Mrs. House the reason for this is that your son is a wizard. – Greg looked at his father expecting him to blow up and yell about the ridiculousness of wizards and magic, but he didn’t. 

He looked at his mother then, they both look pensive, they weren’t protesting and he knew why; because this woman in front of them had, in less than a minute, explained away almost all of the peculiarities that raising Greg had entail. They weren’t protesting because of the same reasons Greg wasn’t protesting, because it fit; because they knew deep down, just like Greg himself knew, that it was him that made all those things happened, they all knew that she spoke the truth, Gregory House was a wizard.

\- The United States has a magical branch? – That was the first thing his father ask after his silence. 

\- What are you planning of doing with my son? – Said his mother clutching him to her almost at the same time.

It was the bald man the one that spoke next, taking the letter than Ms. Delacou , Ms. Greg decided, passed to him, and giving it to Greg’s father.

\- Mr. House the MACUSA governs and regulates everything pertaining to the magical world inside our borders, and that includes the education of every young witch or wizard, like your son. – His father had opened the envelope make of rich thick paper and had started to read the letter.

John House read the first sheet of paper, and then skimmed over the other page passing it all to Blythe. Greg tried to turn his head to read, but it was still smutched against his mother’s shoulder.

\- Ilvermorny is a school then? Not some secret training facility? – Greg couldn’t decide if his father sounded scared or excited, maybe not even John knew.

Mr. Hatt and Ms. Delacou started then to explain about Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and about something called the statute of secrecy. Gregory only half paid attention because his mother had finally passed him the letter and the envelope. It was address to him, in their current address, even his bedroom location was in the envelope. Inside the letter was handwritten in parchment, it had what Greg thought was the school crest on top follow by the letter itself, that was actually rather short. 

 

Headmaster: Delbert Hogwood  
(First Class Chief Warlock, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Gregory House  
We have the great honor to inform you that you have being accepted to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We enclosed the list of all necessary books and equipment required of first year students.  
We expect your reply by owl not later than July 31st.  
The term begins the 1st of September, please wait for the school bus in the front of your building, dressed in your school uniform and with your full equipment between 6 am and 7 am. 

Yours Sincerely  
Slate Brown  
Deputy Headmaster

 

Ms. Delacou was explaining to his parents about how because they were nomags, non-magical people, they would be coming back to accompany them when it was necessary to shop for Greg’s school equipment. Apparently they have managed to convince his mother it was safe and his father, that it was an honor or something because while Greg was reading his school supplies, the conversation went from the sending of the letter by owl, to about when they would all be traveling back to the US to purchase the supplies and embark Gregory on his school bus.

\- We’ll buy his supplies in the United States of course – exclaimed his father when Mr. Hatt said that some of the equipment necessary including the wand could be purchased in the local magical market.

Greg jump up before hard learned lessons could kick in.

\- Could we buy at least my wand here, dad. Please.

Maybe it was the surprise outburst, maybe it was the fact that they had company, or maybe it was the “dad” that did it, but John House nodded slowly.

\- Ok, we’ll buy your wand here. If it’s not too much trouble to Mr. Hatt and Mrs. Delacou, remember you have class tomorrow it would have to be on Saturday.

After both of them assured them it would be no problem for one to stay a couple of extra days, to accompany the House family, Greg whooped hugged his mother, that smile a little sadly at him, and jumping out of the couch, for the first time in years, he hugged his father too. He couldn’t help himself, he wasn’t scared, because at that moment, the only thing running to his mind was “I have magic”.


	2. Mr. Hatt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Hatt comes back to take Greg wand shopping, and give him his first glimpse of the magical world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking on adding another tag, worldbuilding but only in missing details, maybe to long. Author's block still rearing it's ugly head, but I push onwards. Please forgive any mistakes, I proof read myself and some things just pass me by.

Friday lasted an eternity, as Greg knew it would; and he would have sworn that the time between the visitors’ departure, and the moment he had actually fallen asleep on Friday, had lasted like 3 days. And for as much as it seemed it would never happen, Saturday morning had finally arrived, and after a rather quiet breakfast so had Mr. Hatt.  
If the fat pale wizard hadn’t left a memorable impression on Gregory on the first day they met, he certainly did on that Saturday. 

Blythe had finished cleaning out the remaining evidence of breakfast, and she and John were waiting in the living room; Greg on his part had already brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and was anxiously waiting by the front door, when a knock finally came. John, Blythe and Greg turned their heads at the same time, to look confuse at the source of the noise, because instead of the front door, the knock had come from the hallway closet.

\- What the hell? – It was the only thing his father say before walking towards the closet door and with a looked of determination, turned the knob and opened it.

 

Behind the door, surrounded by smoke and dress in a bizarrely formal looking robe was Mr. Hatt, and behind him was not their closet, but a rather shabby looking restaurant. John and Blythe was seem perplexed beyond words, and Greg was almost jumping with excitement; Mr. Hatt greeted them pleasantly, and came in, closing the door behind him.  
While his father, fanning away the smoke, invited the wizard to sit down; Greg ran towards the closet door, and to his wonder but not to his surprise, opened it to find just the interior of the closet. He immediately closed it and ran towards the living room, where his parents and the wizard were already talking.

\- Floo powders are far more common, as they are rather simple to use – Mr. Hatt was explaining to his parents, as Gregory sat – but they are rather inconvenient for the warmer climates, you cannot find chimneys almost anywhere this close to the equator, and usually this variant requires a special designated door, properly registered with the local authorities, but I managed to get this door registered to use it, for today only.

 

Usually Greg would have swallowed his questions in front of his father, as him asking questions tended to annoyed him, but he really couldn’t contain himself, he was dying to learn as much of his new world as he could.

\- So, this is not how all wizards travel? – he asked Mr. Hatt, eyes wide and leaning forward on the couch.

Woodrow Hatt, smiled at Gregory, his smile a lot warmer than Ms. Delacou had been, and proceeded to explain that floo powder was not really convenient for the warmer climates because of the lack of chimneys, and thst while the “light doors” may seem easier to use, because of the whole lack of soot thing, they had they own set of complications. 

\- Besides – Mr. Hatt explained – once you pass your apparition exams you will probably not use them at all, until you have children of your own. Well shall we go then?

Mr. Hatt stood up followed by his father, and approached the closet door again. Blythe took Greg’s hand, and kept him back in spite of his struggling, while the wizard took a pouch out of his pocket, poured a blue powder out of it at the base of the door, and touching it with his wand uttered “Incendio”.

The door suddenly burst into blue flames, making his father flinch, and his mother jump backwards, pulling Gregory with him. Greg hadn’t wanted to retreat, he watched fascinated as the MACUSA wizard knocked on the flaming door while saying “alyad alsahria” which Greg thought meant magical hand or something, and then stepped backwards as the door swung open to reveal again and in a puff of smoke, the same shabby looking restaurant.

They all walked through the doorway, Mr. Hatt the first one, all the while explaining that the fire was magical and would not burn the house down; followed by his father and only then by Greg and his mother, that was still rather forcefully holding on to his hand.

 

\- We will need to go to Gringotts first to change some of your nomag money in to wizarding currency, Gringotts is our bank – Mr. Hatt explained while walking out of the shabby looking establishment; more of a bar-restaurant-undergrown dive, if Greg had to be precise, having now been inside it.

 

With his hand firmly grasped in his mother’s, Greg looked around him; a dark skin man with a really long beard greeted them silently from behind the bar, as they walked towards the big curling staircase that headed downwards. Gregory turned his head again to where they’d come from, and saw a row of balcony doors opening on their own to reveal smoke, people and distinct rooms behind them. A blond woman in colorful robes and a pointy had walked towards one of the closed ones, with a couple of small children and a rather heavy looking bag; she pulled a pouch out her pocket, and proceeded to do the same thing Mr. Hatt had done on their closet door, said “Alqamar Fila” and when the door opened, entered what looked like a hotel lobby.

They reached the staircase and once on the ground floor walked towards the big open entrance that led to a busy street. Greg escaped his mother’s hand only to be caught by his father, who grabbed him by the shoulder rather forcefully and send him a searing look, before releasing him.  
Mr. Hatt continue to talked about their itinerary for the day; while Greg painfully reminded of years of correction, stepped back and stood at his mother side silently.

And yet, a thought started flying around his mind, he would soon be rid of his father for the better part of a year; as, according to the pamphlets that the MACUSA officials had left for him, Ilvermorny was a boarding school. But for now, and even if Greg was almost vibrating with excitement for his new life, he contained himself; he had almost forgotten what kind of father John was, and now that he had been informed the statue of secrecy applied to him, and he had to be very careful not to use his magic outside school year and in school grounds or be expelled. 

 

They walked down a street that looked like other older streets in Cairo, though Greg suspected they weren’t actually in Cairo anymore; and walked among a lot the diverse looking people.  
Their first stop had been Gringotts Bank, where his rather pale father exchange a few hundred dollars for the equivalent wizard amount from a small angry looking clerk; a goblin, explained Mr. Hatt.

Afterwards, and with a small sack of coins, they had headed to the post office, where Mr. Hatt had procured some parchment, ink and quill for Greg to write his school reply, which he then got to tie to an owl’s leg and watched as it flew out towards the sky. His father had insisted that as Gregory’s father it should be him writing the answer, but the official had explained that it was tradition for the young wizards to write their school reply letter themselves. His father hadn’t protested again, but looked increasingly annoyed as Mr. Hatt started to explained directly to Greg more and more.

Greg’s neck crane, bend, and twisted as he tried to look in to the fascinating people, objects and storefronts they walked by. He would have wanted nothing more, than to enter each and every one of the stores and ask about everything in it, but he contented himself with asking Mr. Hatt a question here and there; and was delighted when each one prompted a long a detailed explanation from the man.

Mr. Hatt explained about how witches and wizards did fly in brooms and carpets, but that they were more for sports than transportation, because of the statue of secrecy. He had been advised to get an owl as a school pet, as it would be rather more useful for him than a cat, or a toad would be, given the lack of a family owl.

When they finally arrived at their destiny, Greg stood in awe, it was the smallest, dingiest, oldest looking place he had seen in his life; and he loved it.

 

\- This is “Muazafi Alttaqa”, the oldest magical staff and wand store in all of Africa, run by the Sanakht family – explained Mr. Hatt, as he opened the door and led them in.

 

Inside they were greeted by man so tanned, lined and leathery looking that could have been anywhere between forty or a hundred. Maybe not a hundred, thought Greg, watching the long black beard, thrown indifferently over the man’s shoulder.

 

\- Who do we have here? Did you receive your Dream Stone, young man? – asked the old man with a gentle toothy smile, after pointing towards his troat and muttering a couple of words Greg couldn’t catch.

 

Greg smile and shook his head.

 

\- He’s going to Ilvermorny, actually; his father is currently working in Cairo, but they thought to purchased his wand in advance – explained Mr. Hatt.

 

The old man, actually name Kassem Sanakht, explained that they didn’t make many wands, been mainly staff makers, but his family was verse in wandlore, and they have a small, but powerful selection.

 

\- I’m sure one of them will choose you, my boy; please wait a moment.

 

Mr. Sanakht summoned a measuring rod, like the ones Greg had seen fabric vendors use in the market, and proceeded to take some measures, before slapping his forehead laughing at himself and exchange it for a measuring tape.

 

\- I’m sorry, used to measuring for staffs – said the old man, before taking the hovering measuring tape and taking a totally different, but equally absurd set of measurements.

 

After he had finished, he walked to the back of the store where he remained for a couple of minutes. While he was away, I asked Mr. Hatt about the whole wand choosing me business. “The wand chooses the wizard Greg, not the other way around”; it’s all he said for an explanation, but Greg got the feeling that the government official didn’t know all that much about the subject than that precise statement, so he didn’t ask any follow up questions.  
Soon enough Mr. Sanakht came back carrying with him six dusty boxes that he lay on the counter.

 

\- Alright, as I told you there isn’t much inventory, but I have a good feeling about this. This particular group contains three of the oldest wands we have, that can’t be a coincidence.

 

Without another word he opened the box on the top of the pile and pulled out a plain wand of a rich brown with very little carving on the handle.

 

\- Black walnut wood, 11 ½ inches in length, dragon heartstring core, rather hard. Now, give it a wave – Mr. Sanakth said while unpacking and passing me the wand.

 

Gregory grab the wand and waved it, as the store clerk had said to do. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but the couple of pathetic sparks that fell out of the tip weren’t it. He was about to ask, when Mr. Sanakht took the wand back, shaking his head while he put it back in its box and left it aside.  
He opened the next box and passed him the intricately carved wand that was in it.

 

\- Chesnut wood, 10 inches in length, unicorn hair core, rather unyielding– he said to Greg, giving him the second wand.

 

Gregory, took the wand and gave it a wave. Light and wind seem to explode out of the wand, making papers, and even some of the large staff boxes fly out their places.

 

\- Oh, that one does not like you – exclaimed the clerk with humor in his voice, that rang above his parents frightened and angry mutterings, and took the wand hastily from the boy’s hand.

 

Greg for his part was grinning at Mr. Sanakht, he hadn’t been scared, not even startled; Gregory wanted to see more. The old clerk watched the grinning boy curiously, “could it be?” he asked under his breath.

 

\- This wand is the oldest in this store; it was made by my great, great grandfather – Mr. Sanakht said, while putting some of the boxes aside to grab the oldest looking one of the pile. – Acacia and ebony wood, 13 ½ inches, phoenix feather core, slightly flexible.

 

While he explained all this, Mr. Sanakht carefully opened the box, and pull from it what Greg thought was the most beautiful wand he had ever seen, though those weren’t many. It was both cream colored and black, the two colors curled around each other again and again in a tight spiral, it didn’t have any carvings, because it didn’t need it, the two entwined woods were decoration enough.

 

\- Now, my boy, give it a wave – Said the old man with a curious smile.

 

Greg felt Mr. Hatt advance a couple of steps in curiosity, and his parents retread a little towards the door in fear, but what Greg was most aware of, was the warm that was spreading in his right hand fingers. He gave the wand a wave and golden sparkles flew in every direction brightly illuminating the dark store for a second. Both Mr. Hatt and Mr. Sanakht clap this time.

 

\- Fantastic – celebrated the wand maker taking back the wand, and putting it back in its box. – This one is the oldest wand here, over a hundred and fifty years it has been in this very store, very rare, and very powerful, you are destined for great things if this wand chose you.

 

Mr. Hatt just made an impressed noise, while hearing the clerk’s explanation. Mr. Sanakth for his part was wrapping the box in packing paper. He gave the package to Greg and charge his father 7 galeons for it, which Mr. Hatt, counted for him. 

Gregory would have like to remain on the market a while, but his father claimed, he had taken enough time off, and enough of Mr. Hatt’s time, and they promptly returned home.

The government official instructed Greg not to play or try to use his wand at all until school, and then said his goodbyes, after reminding the family that either him, or Mrs. Delacou would accompany them to buy the rest of the school supplies towards the end of the summer.

After Mr. Hatt had left, Greg went to put away his new wand, at his father’s order; he couldn’t wait till the end of summer vacation. His father couldn’t, or probably wouldn’t leave his job to travel back to the US, so him and his mother were going to be staying with her parents in Camden, North Carolina; that was where, according the government wizards, they would be picked up to take them to “Penyihir Dock” to buy the rest of what he would need. 

Greg sat at his desk to work of his final school assignments, and study for his remaining tests; all the while sending longing looks towards the drawer that held his wand; he really hoped that the summer would passed soon enough, though he really didn’t have any hope of that.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it please leave comments and kudos, I'm coming out of a decade long author's block.


End file.
